Artist in Distress
by WildHorseFantasy
Summary: A case leads Neal and the team through a wild world of drug dealers, art forgery, damsels, and...aliens? Sequel to "Miracle of the Cakes" but it stands alone. Rated T for minor and implied violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or profit from it. I'm just playing in their world until the premier.**

**This story is sort of a sequel to "The Miracle of the Cakes" but it does stand alone.**

* * *

><p>Neal stared in fascination at the painting. It featured people coming out of a church. He analyzed every stroke of paint, every color. He even analyzed the smell and the feel of the canvas in his hands.<p>

"This is really good." He finally remarked.

"But is it real or forged?" Peter demanded.

"Forged, I think. The canvas doesn't feel quite old enough for a Van Gogh."

"Feel old enough? Peter was a bit was expecting something more on the style being off and less an observation based on instinct.

"Well, it's his style. And this painting was reported stolen." Neal studied it carefully. I'm not seeing a forger's signature anywhere."

"Is there supposed to be?" Peter asked dryly.

Neal smiled. "Well, not everyone is as cocky as Hagin."

"Or you."

"I should hope not." Neal's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You didn't steal it did you?"

Neal smiled. "Peter..."

"...or forge it?"

"I'm honored you think I'd do such a good job." Neal smirked.

"Oh for...I don't want to think what happens if one of your forgeries turns up in a case. Conflict of interest and I know better than to think you'd tell me."

"I might. If I was proud of it, the statute was up, or you offered me immunity."  
>"Huh. If. Of course, I'd have to suspect it was you to offer the immunity in the first place."<p>

Neal just shrugged and shook his head, still smiling.

"So, where did it turn up?"

"In the middle of a drug dealers hideout."

Neal smile vanished and he looked utterly appalled.

Peter opened the file he was holding and dug out the picture. Neal lay down the painting and took the large crime scene photo. "Oh no. No, no." The drug den was littered with a bricks of cocaine in a stack on a table, along with an astounding amount of rich merchandise. High end electronics, jewelry just scattered on shelves and at least ten pieces of artwork including paintings and a few odd sculptures. Neal's lips pinched in disgust. "This guy does not deserve a piece of art like this. Even if it's a forgery it deserves a better home."

"I kind of figured you'd think that." Peter smiled.

"What about the rest of the art?"

"Two of the paintings are confirmed stolen. Three we haven't identified yet. One is a definite forgery. One of the sculptures is confirmed stolen, we're waiting on a report about the other ones."

"I could take a look."

"I'm working on it."

Neal looked up, handing back the photo. "Working on it? I can see this one but not the others?"

"This was an NYPD drug bust. They already had people analyzing some of this. We're still doing paperwork to get it transferred."

Neal studied him soberly. "Is that the only reason?"

"If you mean is anyone reluctant to involve you, yes. Various NYPD and FBI officials are a bit wary after...well, your checkered career."  
>Neal's lips firmed into a line. He scowled. "I've helped solve a lot of cases. You've said it yourself. We've got the best closure rate in the bureau."<p>

"But you haven't exactly colored between the lines while you've been here now have you? And they don't even know everything."

Neal's eyes slid shut. "Thanks for that." Some of the things he did he had done for good reason, though the law may not agree with his methods. Those didn't bother him. But there were times he really had disappointed Peter, and himself. Somehow he'd thought at the time he was doing the right thing. Instead it had blown up in his face in spite of his best efforts. And he knew it was only Peter's defending him, risking his career for him, that kept him from being sent straight back to prison.

"So is it our case now?" Neal forced his mind back into the present.

"The art part of it is. And they're welcome to the drug end."

Peter sighed. Neal was eager to see the art. He was eager to prove himself again too. He did love the challenge. It was a good thing. He just wished Neal would stop doing things that kept setting him back. Every time he was convinced Neal was finally on the straight and narrow, the young man pulled a stunt that could slam him back into prison. And for that matter, there was a real danger he'd go down with him. He could lose his career. He'd nearly lost his wife. And while Neal wasn't directly to blame, he'd certainly opened them to danger.

Then again, it would be good to rebuild their team. They all wanted it back. Neal did. Peter did. Elizabeth did. Jones and Diana hadn't commented, but he saw the glances they exchanged. Maybe this case would help. He just hoped it wouldn't involve sending Neal into a drug den. He was pretty sure Neal could outsmart and out talk any drug addict alive, by virtue of the fact that even sober types rarely could out think him. Still, you couldn't reason with someone on drugs and some of them carried guns or knives.


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay we've got a report on the one we know is a forgery. It's got some odd fluorescent flakes of paint on the back. There is also a trace of a rare sand, with meteor dust mixed with plaster and glue." Diana said holding up the file.

Taking it, Neal's blue eyes widened as he studied the report. "Hmm."

"Sand? Meteor dust?" Peter was a bit taken aback.

"Interesting." He murmured.

"What does sand and meteor dust have to do with a forged painting?" Diana voiced Peter's confusion.

"Well, between that and the fluorescent paint, it could give a clue to what the forger's own painting style is and the subject matter."

Peter still looked blank.

"I'm guessing it's used for a texture effect." Neal finished.

"Know any artists that use it?"

"Offhand? No. But there are a lot of artists. Let me do some research."

Neal carried off the report and landed at his desk, doing an internet search on painters that included fluorescent paint and sand in their repertoire. Of course, if the artist kept their method a secret, he considered, this might not work. After experimenting with various search terms he got a short list.

"Hm." Somehow it was hard to picture anyone on this list being connected to a drug dealer. But one never knew.

He scratched off one who had died recently. Another one was in a jungle somewhere doing missionary work, 're-inspiring himself' according to his website. The final one made him blink in surprise. The web page featured a gallery of amazing photos. It was not only of her artwork. It was also of costumes and an amazing number of event photos. Science fiction and fantasy conventions and comic book shop parties he realized.

"Okay then." Neal sighed, printing a copy of her 'about' page. Some comic book artists truly deserved the title of artist. But it wasn't really his subject. Someone this deeply involved in it would spot him for a phony the first time they voiced an opinion about an obscure bit of trivia. It would require doing some research to blend into that world if he needed a cover. He glanced up. Peter was in just leaving the office.

"Anything?" He paused by Neal's desk.

"Maybe. Or not. Hard to tell yet."

"Well, lay off for tonight. It's been a long day. I'll give you a ride home."

Neal jumped up and grabbed his coat and hat. After a second he reached back and grabbed the folder. It had been awhile since Peter had offered him a ride. Whether it was there strained relationship or that he was in a hurry to get home to Elizabeth, it had been awhile since they'd spent any time at all together outside of work. When he got outside he realized why Peter offered now. It was cold and rainy. Not a great day to walk home. And he'd have had to wait for a cab.

Thanking Peter for the ride, Neal dove for the front door of the house, attempting to avoid total saturation as the rain poured down like a waterfall on his head. He shook himself inside, already dripping. He took a step and his shoes squeaked. Pulling them off with a sigh, both to avoid the wet trail and squeaks, he hurried to his apartment. He found Mozzie inside on the couch and helping himself to Neal's wine.

"Wow, your soaked. Why didn't you take a cab?"

"Peter gave me a lift."

"Did he trade in the Taurus for a convertible?"

"No, this is just from the car to the door." Neal dropped the wet shoes and pulled off the bedraggled jacket. His hat streamed water when he took it off. He laid the printout and folder of artists on the table and vanished into the bathroom.

He came back, dry and in clean casual clothes, to find Mozzie peering at the file. "Looking for a new project to practice on?"

Neal studied Mozzie for an instant, wondering if his friend was implying he meant to forge or steal the paintings.

"It's a case." He continued rubbing a towel through his wet hair. Even the fedora hadn't kept his head dry.

"Oh."

"A Van Gogh that is either a forgery or the actually stolen painting."

"Oh!" Mozzie looked more interested now. "What's this girl...Bergman? Got to do with it? Hey she's cute."

Neal glanced back at the printout. "You can tell from that?"

"You can't?"

"I don't have to. I saw it onscreen, where she definitely was cute. Telling from a cheap printed black and white copy isn't quite the same."

"So what's she got to do with it?"

"I don't know that she has anything to do with it. There were traces of sand and fluorescent paint on the back. I thought maybe the forger used those materials in their own projects. She's the only one that seems to use them in paintings in the area, or in the country and alive."

"I'll buy that last one. Of course, if it's a forgery leaving the country might be the way to go."

"Well, we can check him out later. He's somewhere in a jungle."

"Very hard to get too. I agree. Start with the cute one. What do you know about her?"

"She's a science fiction and fantasy fanatic. Lots of pictures of events on her website."

"Science fiction conventions?" Mozzie stared mournfully at his empty glass. "Did you know there is one this weekend?"

"No. Where?"

"Here. In New York. In the city. Think she'll show?"

"She might. She sells fantasy and space art at them."

"You'll need a costume."

Neal turned and stared at him. "Seriously?"

"You saw the pictures. I've seen enough to know that nearly everyone dresses up. It's all Star Trek and Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica and who knows what else. If they aren't in costume they are wearing the T-shirts."

"Okay Doctor Who. Can you tell me anything about this stuff that connects to drug dealers?"

"No, their addiction is to space stories and unicorns and fantasy tech that I'd love to trade my Russian surplus for, if it were real. Who needs drugs? What do drug dealers have to do with it anyway?"

"The painting...paintings actually, were confiscated from a drug dealer."

"Van Gogh, forged paintings, science fiction and drug dealers. This is going to be an interesting case..."

* * *

><p><strong>Author Note: I was partly inspired by Michael David Ward in regard to the space art ideas.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Peter looked unhappy when Neal told him about his theory about the artist Lana Bergman and the science fiction convention.

"What's wrong? It'll be the ideal opportunity to check her and her work out."

"It's Saturday."  
>"Like you've never worked on a ...oh."<p>

"Oh, what?"

"I get it. You want to be with Elizabeth."

"Well last weekend she was working catering that children's fundraiser and I was stuck in the van on stake out."

Neal smiled. "You should've helped with the fundraiser. It was fun."

"This weekend, I'd prefer to be with my wife."

"No problem. I can handle it."

Peter's eyes widened, then narrowed. "It's out of your radius."

"Oh come on. It's not like you can't track me either way. And I really would be working."

"I don't know...there are drug dealers involved here. I'm not sure I want you going alone."

"I could take Mozzie."

Peter just stared at him. Clearly he didn't think Mozzie would keep him out of trouble.

"Maybe I could get Jones or Diana to go with me."

Peter sighed. "I'll see if they have plans this weekend."

Neal silently noted how Peter's attitude toward overtime had changed since Elizabeth's kidnapping. He appreciated how time spent at work had to be balanced out by time giving to family and friends.

Unexpectedly, Jones volunteered.

"You sure?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. I've always wondered what those science fiction conventions are like. May as well go on the FBI's dime." He smiled.

"That's the way to look at it!" Neal said brightly.

Mozzie wasn't so thrilled. He probably would've gone if Jones wasn't going. But he found the feds, even those he liked, cramped his style.

"Be careful. Don't get flattened by angry klingons or something."

Neal rolled his eyes.

"And take this." Moz handed him a toy machine gun.

Neal gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

"Everyone is either in costume or wearing sci fi shirts promoting movies or something. If you go dressed like that...," he gestured to Neal's signature suit and fedora, "you need a prop."

"And who am I supposed to be?"

"One of those guys from an old Star Trek episode. They found a planet that was ruled by Al Capone style gangs and wore clothes like them too. It was called 'A Piece of the Action.' I liked that one."

Neal stared at him. He was saved from a response by a knock.

"Hey Jones." The dark skinned man had on a Star Wars T-shirt and hat.

"Hey, your incompatible. Trekkers and Star Wars fans are usually mortal enemies." Mozzie frowned.

"Not always." Jones fired back. He pulled out an authentic looking communicator badge from one of the newer Trek TV shows and pinned it on.

Mozzie looked appalled. Neal just shook his head. "Let's go."

They hurried out to wear Jones had borrowed an agency car. Jones slid behind the wheel and paused to stare at the toy gun. "I thought you hated guns."

"It's Mozzie's idea." Neal eyed it.

"I think you'd be more a lightsaber guy. An elegant weapon for a more civilized age."

"Your a closet science fiction fan." Neal noted.

"I like some fantasy now and then."

"And the gadgets?"  
>"That too."<p>

Jones drove off and while the traffic was normal for New York, the parking at the event was worse than normal. And the parking fee was insane, even for the city. "Wow." He said, climbing out of the car and glaring back at the entrance to the parking area. "That was highway robbery."

"Why don't you arrest them?"

"I wish."

Neal hesitated, frowning at the tommy gun toy as he got out.

"You know Miller in the tech department?" Jones asked.

"I might've met him."

Jones went around to the trunk, flipped it open and pulled out two items and held them out. "I brought these just in case."

Neal eyed the objects doubtfully. "More props? What's this got to do with Miller?" He noticed several others, including a lightsaber and some kind of blaster.

"A tricorder, phaser and a communicator. Much smaller than the tommy gun prop but it'll make you stick out less."

"As one experienced at the art of the con, I admit that's a good thing. You sure I couldn't have the lightsaber?" While barbarian strolled past them. Neal tucked the communicator and phaser pistol onto his belt and slung the tricorder strap over his shoulder, abandoning the gun.

"It wouldn't match the suit. Just one other thing." Jones paused.

Neal looked at him expectantly and Jones grinned. "I borrowed those from Miller. So if you lose them, the whining and weeping trekker is your problem."

Neal's brows rose. "Got it."

If parking was absurd, the price for admission was more so. But they were distracted from that by the sheer volume of people of all shapes and sizes. A child Darth Vader ran past. Full size klingons argued in their native tongue. A couple of jedi sparred. Signs hung before the rooms of the enormous lobby. A fairy skipped past as Neal read the signs. "Ask the space sage" was for the hall where the guest actors – and Neal wasn't even sure who they were – were to speak and give questions and answers. There was a politics of the galaxy room, a panel for fantasy and science fiction writers and comic book artists. Finally his eyes fell on the 'space bazaar' room.

"I'll bet that's it." He pointed.

"Sounds like a place people will be selling all right." Jones looked at him. "You okay? Oh!" He followed Neal's wide eyed gaze to the elf woman who strolled past. He blinked rapidly. "Wow."

They wandered into the bazaar and found the massive throng was even more dense here.

"Whoa!" Jones was peering at the price of some action figures. His head swiveled wildly, pausing over some old Flash Gordon comics. "Man! I wish I hadn't let my folks throw out my comics. Can you believe these prices? Hey, do people ever forge comics or action figures?"

"Oh certainly." Neal said, amused. Finally, near a wall at the back, he spotted paintings. "Over here. Oh."

Jones stepped around an short ewok munching popcorn and paused. "Those are huge!" He gasped.

The space paintings were so large you almost felt you could fall through and float, took up most of the back wall. Sparkles, and stars, nova and comets with an amazing array of color and gradations drew one in. Neal moved closer, studying the paintings. His eye was caught by the sandy texture of the planet and the fluorescent glow of the suns. His eyes dropped to find smaller paintings nearby. Aliens and animals of strange worlds, but there was something familiar about them. He blinked hard, peering closer. They bore a resemblance to real old world paintings, as if someone had taken the old image and used it as a base for the new creation. Neal picked out two of the prints.

He glanced back up to speak to Jones and found him perusing the woman's table while she conversed with another patron dressed in a semi Egyptian gould gear from Stargate. He moved to his side. Jones murmured. "Lists on here some of the stuff she uses. It matches." He held up a brochure.

"I can tell by looking at the paintings."

They glanced at each other and then at Lana Bergman.

"Hey, Ms. Bergman?" Neal politely interposed himself in their conversation and flashed his most charming grin. "This artwork is incredible."

"Thank you." She smiled, her cheeks had an almost rosy flush, purely natural, and her curly light brown hair bounced as she nodded.

"Do you ever do more conventional work?" Neal gestured to the alien paintings. "These look like re envisioned old masters. Did they inspire you?"

"Oh yes. I used to practice copying theirs. What art student doesn't? And I used to think what it was like to see the world back then. Back when some people believed in dragons and unicorns...what would those artists think of the world now?"

Neal pondered. Glancing around he gave a half smile and observed "I bet they would think it was noisy."

She laughed. "Your probably right!"

"I'd love to see some of your other work, not that this isn't a great sampling. Did you travel far to get here? Do you have any more?"

"Oh no. I'm staying with my sister just outside the city." Her smile dropped for a moment, then returned. She turned aside for an instant as an eager collector hurried up, holding to of her smaller prints in one hand and cash in the other. "Are you an artist?"

"Among other things. I wasn't able to make a go full time. Any chance I could get a look at the other work?" Neal's eyes sparkled. "Of course, at the rate your going you might not have any left."

She smiled. "I'm sure I will. Even now, I still have a part time job. What's your name?" She batted green eyes at him, scribbling a number on a brochure and handing it to him. "Call me after the show."

"Nick Halden. Thanks, I'll do that."

Jones, watching from the side just smirked and shook his head. He froze suddenly as a green, scantily clad woman brushed against him. At least, he thought it was a woman. It occurred to him that in this place, he couldn't be sure. He glanced sideways, hoping Neal would hurry.

Neal handed Lana the money for the prints and she carefully put them in envelopes and in a bag. Neal waved and turned to Jones.

As they maneuvered through the crowd, Neal asked innocently,"You have a bias against green woman, Jones?" He smirked.

"No. I'm just not sure how I feel about flirting with aliens on duty." He fired back. A female elf walked past in flowing robes. His eyes followed her.

"You are tempted by elves though I see."

They'd barely taken two steps when a gold and black costumed trek fan stopped and looked Neal up and down. "Hey man, nice threads. From "A Piece of the Action" right? So if there was a sequel how do you think the planet turned out? Did the gangsters ever demand a piece of the action from Starfleet? Did that federation technology they left by accident change the course of the planet's history?"

Neal froze. He should've had Mozzie bring the episode over so he could research it. "Ah. I think..."

"Hey, Neal, we gotta go. We'll miss the show." Jones waved.

Neal gave his questioner an apologetic shrug and hurried after Jones.

"Thanks."

"Now we're even."

They retreated through the crowd, seeking the exit back to planet Earth.


	4. Chapter 4

"So what did you find out?" Peter leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed with a beer in his hand. Neal had shown up at his house to show him the prints.

"That impersonating a science fiction fanatic is the hardest con of all." Neal said with a straight face, sitting opposite him.

Elizabeth came out and handed him a drink.

"Not into science fiction?"

"It's not a question of liking it. It's a question of being so into it you can roll off every TV episode, every actor, every piece of technical jargon ever invented. Some of them even spoke klingon and elvish."

"They took time to learn a fictional language?"

"Yes. Now, I have to admit, those costumes were a real work of art. Not store bought stuff. Most of them were home made. Got to give them credit for crafts skills and creativity."

"I meant what did you find out about the artist?" Peter scratched Satchmo. "Did she show?"

"Yes." Neal smiled. "And she was doing good business too." He pulled the prints out of the bag and handed them over. "Notice anything about these?"

Peter leaned forward. "Oh, these are weird."

"Yes." Neal frowned. "But familiar. Look at the poses and outfits."

Elizabeth leaned around and peered at them. "Oh, that's different. It's like she's taken famous paintings and replaced people with aliens."

Peter looked at her wide eyed.

"You didn't see it?" Elizabeth asked.

"I was distracted by the three eyes." He pointed at the orange faced figure in Victorian robes.

"She had these huge space paintings. She uses the sand for the planet's texture and meteor dust in the paint for special effects." Neal handed him the brochure. "They were beautiful."

"You like them better than the others I take it."

"Somehow the Mona Lisa with bug eyes and antennae just doesn't do it for me." Neal shook his head, wincing.

"But we can't tell from this that she's the forger. Peter stared at the second print, which admittedly bore a resemblance to the Van Gogh painting in question.

"I can find out more when I meet with her again."

Peter looked up. "Again?"

Neal smiled.

* * *

><p>Meeting Lana again was interesting and Neal enjoyed it. She offered him a special tea and they sat at a kitchen window looking out at grassy yard. They were just outside the city, but Neal knew Peter and the team were listening in the van. They were probably bored silly. Neal was getting a delicious snack and talking art techniques with a beautiful girl. He definitely had the advantage. He had to hide an amused smile behind the rim of his cup at the thought.<p>

"So where's your sister?"

"Oh...she's in bed. She hasn't been well."

Neal cocked his head. "Anything I can do?"

She melted slightly at the offer.

"I don't think so. It's an injury. Doctor's say it'll take time, physical therapy, that sort of thing. She's pretty out of it on pain meds most of the time." Her voice went from sad to a touch angry at the end. Neal wondered what she was thinking, or who she was blaming.

The doorbell rang and she rose. "That'll be the nurse. She comes in every day to check on Cynthia. Excuse me for a minute."

Neal winced inwardly as she went to the door. He rose quietly, prowling around, poking into things while alert for Lana's return. He wasn't surprised to happen across a mountain of bills. Doctors, insurance, nurses, medical,..he frowned. Some bills were addressed to her, some to Cynthia. But the ones from a lawyer caught his eye, and one from a bail bondsman. "Hmm." He glanced back, listening to the muffled voices, pulled out his phone and used the built in camera to take pictures of the mail. Lana had set up a space for her artwork and was fairly successful. But Neal knew that it was hard to make it as an artist. She'd mentioned having a part time job. Her sister was clearly in no condition to work. That meant she was probably stuck with all of these bills.

"She's in trouble." He murmured. "She's in way over her head." He continued to explore the small studio. His eye was caught by more paintings. A half finished painting looked suspiciously like another Van Gogh in progress. He wracked his mind, trying to remember what other Van Gogh paintings were missing. He almost had it when footsteps approached.

He hurried to sit back down as she came back.

She sat down with a weary sigh. "I can't do everything for Cynthia myself."

"It sounds expensive. What kind of accident was it?"

Lana's face tensed. "I never said it was an accident."

Expert as he was at shading the truth, Neal recognized her dodge. Someone had hurt her sister on purpose. He considered carefully. Pain meds..., "Are you worried she'll get hooked on the meds? You sound kind of upset about it."

She sniffed, folded her arms across her chest. "Yes."

"Well, there are legitimate reasons for medicine."

She didn't respond, just looked sad. She clutched her mug in both hands and sipped. She seemed much more weary than at the show. She set it down at last. "I'm sorry. I have to get to my second job now."

Neal nodded. He pulled out a card with his number on it. "Lana, if you need help, give me a try." He held it out. "I've got a surprisingly wide variety of friends."

She eyed him warily. "You only just met me. Why would you help?"

"Because I get this feeling your in trouble. And I know what it's like, to be in trouble. Sometimes, it takes help to get out. I've had friends who helped me. I'd like to pass the favor on."

She smiled faintly. "I may just take you up on that."

In the van, Peter scowled at the monitors. He glanced back at Diana. "I think he's decided our suspect is a damsel in distress."

"That's the trouble with bugs. We can only hear what's going on." Diana was frowning too. "We can't see what he sees."

"He sees all these bills and knows she's financially in trouble." Peter studied the pictures Neal had emailed him.

"Which is motive." Diana paused. "Do you think her sister had anything to do with it?"

"I guess that depends on just how she got injured." Peter murmured thoughtfully.

Neal drove up the street in a borrowed agency car. He traded places with an agent who was in the van, leaving the other to drive the car back.

"So, I'm guessing that you think she's a victim." Peter observed looking at Neal.

"Oh, she might be the forger. But I have a feeling someone has backed her into a corner. Did you hear how she reacted when I asked about her sister's 'accident'?"

"If it's an injury it's either accidental or on purpose. She definitely implied on purpose." Diana agreed.

"So maybe her sister owed someone money and they hurt her to get it. Now Lana is backed into a corner."

"Right now all we have is speculation. We ne.."

"We need more evidence." Interrupting, Diana and Neal chorused.

Peter looked taken aback. "Do I say that a lot?"

"Oh no. Just once a twice a case." Diana grinned.

"Maybe we should just tell her the truth." Peter eyed Neal. "Tell her your an FBI consultant investigating the Van Gogh and see how she reacts."

"If she thinks she's a suspect she'll clam up. If she goes to prison, who takes care of her sister?" Neal asked.

Peter just looked at him. "Neal if she forged those paintings..."

"She can make a deal can't she?"

"If she cooperates."


	5. Chapter 5

Neal blinked groggily into the darkness. The persistent ring of the cell phone dragged him from slumber. He grabbed it off the side table and peered at the caller ID. Lana Bergman's name and number leaped off the glowing screen at him. Startled to alertness, he answered it. "Hello?"

Lana's frantic voice woke him further. "I'm...s..sorry to wake you. I didn't know who else to call..."

"What's wrong?"

"My sister's is trying to kill herself!" She choked out a sob. "She's locked the door, I can't get to her..."

"Did you call the police? An ambulance?"

"I...I can't call the police."

"I'll come and help." Neal promised, knowing as he said it he'd need to call Peter. He was wearing his tracker and she was outside his radius. "But you may have to call an ambulance or something. It'll take me awhile to get there."

"Please hurry." She was sobbing.

"I will. Hang on."

Neal scrambled for his clothes. He hit the speed dial for Peter's number on the phone and left it on speaker while he grabbed pants and a pull over shirt. Peter's sleepy voice mumbled, "Neal, this had better be..."

"Lana's sister is trying to kill herself. I promised her I'd be right over."

The long silence made him stop and check the phone. Had Peter fallen asleep again or had the signal dropped?

"I'll come and get you."

"A cab might be faster."

"You don't know for sure what your walking into. Did she call an ambulance?" Peter's voice was more alert now and Neal could hear him moving around.

"She was afraid to."

"More afraid of losing her sister to suicide?"

"I don't know."

"I'll be there in a few." Peter stated.

Neal fidgeted at the front door until Peter pulled up in his car. He hurried into the passenger seat and barely had the seat belt on when they peeled out into the night traffic. "What'll I tell her about you?"

"Her sister is trying to commit suicide, I would think I would be low on her priority list."

"Yes, but she's scared."

"Just tell her I'm a friend." Peter said calmly. "We'll wing it from there."

By the time they arrived at the house an ambulance as just ahead of them.

"If I flash my badge we'll get through but it'll blow your cover."

"Not that I have much of a cover. I'm just a fellow artist. I've never told her what I do for a living."

Peter turned to look at him.  
>Neal winced. "Eyes. Road. Please."<p>

Peter looked away.

"I meant, I've never told her anything, real or fiction except that I'm an artist. And that's true, really."

Neal shot out of the part and dodged the ambulance drivers. He flinched as he saw the police car pull up. Lana had to have been truly desperate. "Lana?"

"Nick?" She called She looked down through banisters from the was thumping helplessly on a door. A paramedic had an ear to the door and was calling through it. "Oh, you were right, I had to call them. She won't open the door.."  
>"What exactly did she do?"<p>

"Overdosed on the pain meds. She locked the door and slid this note under it." She waved it too fast for Neal to read it.

"Is there any other way in?"

"No. And it's an oak door with a dead bolt and heavy hinges."

It would practically need a battering ram. Neal considered. The door locked from the inside and the hinges were inside too. Why had she set up such a secure door on a bedroom? There was no time to debate.

"What about a window?"

"Third story." She swallowed. "The back of the house is on a hill so that side is three stories up."

Neal hurried back out, calling back, "I'm going to take a look."

He ran into Peter at the front door, consulting the cops. He didn't wait, just brushed past and ran around the house. Peter followed and the cop trailed after. Looking up, Neal measured the distance until he found the third floor window he was looking for.

"What are you thinking?" Peter demanded, concerned at the wheels he could see turning in his partner's mind.

Neal pointed. "That's the room. The window's shut and might be locked, but it's probably easier to get in then that heavy door."

"It's three stories up."

Neal's gaze was sweeping along the building. He found another window some distance from the first. He studied the layout and the gutters. "I can go through that other window, go up to the roof by that gutter pipe, it's not far. And then down into the other window."

"That's insane."

"I've done such things before."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. We should get a fire truck and ladder."

"She overdosed on pills, Peter. Every second counts." Neal was already running back to the house. He shot up the stairs. Peter started to follow, then checked himself and returned to glue his eyes to the window. Neal was determined. He'd never talk him out of it. And he was right, the woman probably didn't have time. Eventually, his friend's tall form appeared at the other window. He shoved it open, straddled the sill and grabbed the pipe. Peter clenched his fists and the cop beside him sucked in a breath. Neal released the pipe and had both hands on the roof. He started to slip and Peter gasped. But he caught himself and crawled rapidly to the other window. Peering over the edge for a long moment, he motioned to Peter. Peter hurried closer and Neal called down. "Hit it with a rock."

Peter gaped at him.

"It's locked. I can't pick it from this angle and I didn't bring anything to break it."

Looking around the yard, Peter found some rocks lining the garden. He took one and threw it hard, hoping it wouldn't hit the patient. It crashed with a loud clatter through the glass.

Neal grinned appreciatively. "Great pitch!" He rolled off the roof, holding it's edge and kicked at the broken area. He kicked again and swung through.

Peter winced and bolted for the house. Surely Neal hadn't gotten through all that glass unscathed?

Inside the room, Neal did indeed have some glass cuts. But none were as pressing as the young woman laying on the bed, curled in the fetal position. Her face was damp with tears. She blinked, too slowly, up at him. "No." She whispered. "Let me die. I've hurt her enough. Let me free Lana."

Neal paused to squeeze her hand. It was cold and he barely felt the pulse in her wrist. "There are other ways. I can help. I have friends who can help." The door still rattled from Lana's thumping. Neal rose and unlocked it. She rushed in. "No!" She stared at her sister's too pale face. "Cynthia, no."

"She was talking a second ago." Neal told the paramedics as they rushed in.

He took Lana by the shoulders and drew her back. "Let them work."

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do," sobbed Lana. "I just want this to stop. But I don't want to lose my sister."


	6. Chapter 6

Neal went with Lana to the hospital. She shied away from the police asking questions, averted her eyes when they asked if they knew why she'd done it. She most emphatically denied knowing anything about a suicide note. Apparently a paramedic had seen it when she'd waved it at Neal. She pressed against him, sobbing, in a hospital room waiting room.

Neal's fingers expertly plucked it out of her pocket. When the doctor came in to talk to her, Neal stepped out and gave her space. He glanced down at the crumpled note, then up again. He took a quick shot with his camera phone.

"I'm so sorry Lana. I should've just gone to the police when I found out. But I loved him once. Don't let him destroy you too. If I'm gone, he'll have no hold on you. Love Cynthia."

Neal glanced back to see her hurrying out behind the doctor. She came up to him, teary eyed. "I hardly know you. But I didn't have anyone else to call."

"I'm glad you did." He replied sincerely. He squeezed her arm while lightly tucking the note back in her purse.

"I...I'm going to see her now." She rubbed her eyes. "Thank you so much." She was dismissing him.

"Will you let me know how it goes? And...whatever the trouble is, think about letting me help."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Neal smiled at that. Ignoring the cuts he already had from broken glass, he commented "Let me worry about that."

Peter was waiting in the cafeteria, wrinkling his nose at a barely touched cup of coffee.

"That bad huh?" Neal dropped lightly into the seat across from him.

"It makes me long for the office coffee."

"Really bad!" Neal's eyes widened.

Peter got up and Neal followed him out to the car. Dawn colors streaked the sky. Peter finally asked: "Well, did we get anything?"

"She denied there being a suicide note to the cops, but she'd already told me she had one."

"Hm."

"So I borrowed it and took a picture."

Peter cringed and gave him a pained look.

Ignoring it, Neal stared out at the traffic as the reentered the city. "There is a guy involved. Someone Cynthia blames herself for letting him hurt Lana."

"We'll have to dig into her sister's history."

"She worked for a retail store chain." Neal noted. "Before she was injured."

"We can work with that." Peter yawned.

"Don't do that. It's contagious."

Neal noticed that Peter was heading straight for his house. "Aren't you going to drop me off?"

"El's going out of town for a meeting later today and will be gone all night. If I don't see her for breakfast I won't see her at all. So I guess I'd rather be stuck with you there too than not see her at all."

"Thanks. I think." Neal shook his head.

Tumbling out of the car and stretching, he followed Peter into the house. Peter hugged his wife, who smiled at Neal. "The early birds catch anything?"

Neal yawned unexpectedly, then glared at Peter. "Only the yawns. He started it."

"You started it. You called me at two AM!"

El smiled. "Come and get cleaned up for breakfast." She noticed Neal's damaged clothes and her smile vanished. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Just scratches." Neal smiled.

Neal noticed there were three places set and he fidgeted. Every once in awhile, the sense that he didn't deserve their generosity overwhelmed him. He was a professional though, and didn't show it. He whacked down the unwelcome feeling determinedly and headed up to their bathroom to check his cuts.

"You okay?" Peter asked.

Neal jumped. He hadn't noticed him follow him.

"Yeah." Neal inspected the wounds. "It's just superficial" He studied the one sizable rip in his pants with dismay. He rolled the leg up and looked closer.

"That one drew blood though." Peter noted. "Darn. On the job injury paperwork."

Neal, accepting the first aid kit, Peter held out asked, "Gosh. Do you think I should sue?" Neal looked more disturbed by the trouser's damage.

Peter snorted and took a moment to call the office and leave a message for Jones and Diana to check out Cynthia Bergman and any ex boyfriends. As Neal clattered back down the stairs. Peter's brown eyes studied him. "Would you like a knife?"

Neal looked bewildered. "For cereal?"

"To give those pants a few more holes. It's all the rage now. They sell pants with pre made holes for a fortune."

Elizabeth chuckled and Neal snorted.

Peter grabbed the oatmeal. Neal took cereal and started to hand Peter the sugar he was reaching for. Elizabeth reached out and smacked Peter's hand with a spoon and Peter gave her a pained look.

"You eat too much suger."

"I need the energy."

"There are healthier ways to get it."

"How?"

"Ask Neal, he seems to have plenty."

Neal blinked hard at being dragged into the ongoing marital disagreement. He quickly took a big bite of cereal, chewing slowly so when Peter looked at him, all he could do was shrug helplessly.

He finished before Peter, who, while hungry, seemed to find his breakfast lifeless and dull without the extra sugar. He lingered longer over his coffee, no doubt comparing it to the hospital swill. Satchmo was whining. "Does he need a walk?"

"Yes, please, thank you Neal." El replied.

Neal put the dog's leash on and retreated out the door, leaving Peter to Elizabeth's tender mercies. The fresh air and food freshened his tired eyes after the long night. Satchmo strolled along, clearly enjoying the bright morning. Finally they returned. Elizabeth was just leaving, having said goodbye to Peter. Her husband stood at the door looking mournful.

"Ready for a bachelor night? Just you and Satch?" Neal queried.

Peter just sighed. "I keep having this eerie feeling one day she won't come back. I can't take it for granted that she'll always be here..."

"I understand." Neal said, honestly. "I...know that fear well." And had realized it, when Kate was killed with the plane explosion.

Peter nodded. "I guess you do. Come on. Let's see if Jones and Diana have found anything."

"After I change clothes I hope."

"If you insist."  
>"Please." Neal fingered his ripped pants with dismay.<p>

Peter sat at his desk, comparing the notes they had so far. Neal sat in front of Peter's desk, frowning. He was impatient to get back to helping Lana. As usual, Neal's attention had veered from a case to a person. Peter glanced up at Neal, who looked bored. His mind flashed back to a drugged Neal in the Hausman clinic. "It's not about things, it's about people." It had seemed an odd attitude for a thief who'd stolen more than he'd make in a lifetime. But he'd meant it. When Neal saw someone in trouble, he wanted to help.

"What I don't get," Peter finally interrupted Neal's fidgeting, "is why forge known stolen paintings? They have to know that if it turns up, it'll get our attention. Either it's proven to be a forgery, or it's assumed real and they end up connected with the theft."

Neal considered, then his eyes narrowed. "For that very reason. Street cred. They believe it's real because no-one is likely to forge them. If their selling to a certain kind of client, the fact that it's stolen and infamous makes it more attractive."

"You need to get Lana to introduce you to that boyfriend."

Diana came in with a file. "How's this for interesting. The company her sister works for? They had a bunch of firings in the New Jersey branch just last month. It seems they caught a couple of employees shipping drugs with their products."

"Aha." Peter said.

"So if her boyfriend was one of these guys..." Neal murmured.

"It gets better. They are pretty sure the ringleaders are in New York."

Neal eyes narrowed. "They lost a lot in New Jersey. They won't want to risk it here."

"And they'll be eager to make it up."

"I think it's time we brought her in." Peter decided.


	7. Chapter 7

The next time Neal saw Lana, he was at the hospital checking on her sister. He stopped outside the door and his eyes narrowed with alarm at the man with her.

"We need the next piece by tomorrow." The stranger growled.

"I can't do it. I won't." Her lips were set in a firm line and her arms were crossed.

"Your sister owes us. You pay or she does." He shook a finger in his face, threatening.

"She's so sick of this mess you've gotten her in she tried to kill herself. She wants me to stop and I will!" She fired back, angry.

He grabbed her, gripping her arms and slamming her into the wall. Rage broiled in his eyes. "I owe these people big bucks because of the product your sister dumped. And either you or she is paying it back."

"What product would that be?" Neal stepped firmly into the room, blue eyes flashing.

"None of your business."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. You just threatened someone and that could get you in a lot of trouble. Now let her go or I'll call security."

The man had icy grey eyes and dark hair. He was powerfully built and would've been handsome except for the ugly expression on his face. He stepped right up to Neal, trying to intimidate him. Neal, having faced down worse than this petty dealer, wasn't having any of it.

"You want a piece of the pain?" The man growled.

Behind the creep, Lana was shaking her head wildly.

Neal ignored her warning. "I've got friends on two sides of the law." His eyes blazed into the others. "And one way or another you will stop harassing them." He motioned to Lana.

The man's lips firmed and he glared hatefully at him. Then he turned and stormed out.

Lana pressed her hands to her mouth. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Yes, I should." Neal sucked in a breath. "I'm not just an interested fellow artist."

"What are you?"

"Someone who knows the trouble you're in. And I can help."

She shook her head.

Neal took the chance and pulled out his consultant badge.

She paled. "I think you better leave." Her voice trembled.

"Lana. I've been on both sides. I went down for four years for bond forgery. I know this world. But I wouldn't mess with drug dealers. Now I've got reason to believe that you've been forging, at least a Van Gogh maybe more than one, but you were forced to by them..." Neal motioned after the ugly ex boyfriend. "And believe me, people like that don't play fair. They'll never let you go if your good at it. They'll never consider the debt paid. Let me help. We can take them down. It's the only way you'll be free."

She looked up but didn't quite meet his eyes. "I...I think I need a lawyer. You can't prove I forged anything."

Neal smiled. "I don't really want to. I want the guys behind it. So do the feds."

"I'm small fry you mean. But that'll still leave me with a mountain of bills I can never pay. And my sister needs those paid or they won't treat her." She brushed her hands over her eyes.

Neal hesitated. "Would she want you to do this? Aren't they the ones who hurt her? I have a friend whose a lawyer. Maybe there will even be a reward."

"You don't understand. It's not just Harry! He's just a tip of the iceberg. These people have mob connections. They know killers." She sat down wearily.

"We know of one. That's how we found out about the painting." He sat down beside her. "And like I said, I've been a forger. Believe me, I know it can be dangerous."

"But you still think I should do it."

"You'll never be free until you do. And neither will your sister."

She clenched her hands. "Who do I talk to? Oh, I should talk to a lawyer first..."

Neal pulled out his cell phone. "Do you have one?"

"No. Not for this kind of thing. Who was yours? Oh. You went down you said. Maybe I don't want that one..." She was rambling in desperation.

Neal laughed. "I do have a friend whose a lawyer. And no, he wasn't handling my case at the time. He became a lawyer after."

"Please, will you call him?"

A team was soon positioned at the hospital guarding took Lana back to the his apartment. Peter eyed Mozzie, who was sitting alongside Lana across from him. Neal sat at the side of the table. He glanced at Neal with a 'did you have to bring him into this' look.

Neal just shrugged.

"So Mrs. Bergman. How did you get into this?"

"Cynthia's boyfriend used to ask her to deliver messages occasionally. She didn't know what was in the packages. He told her he collected rare books and art. But one day a tube broke open." Lana's lips tightened and she frowned. She looked Peter in the eye. "She was furious when she found drugs spilling out. She dumped them down the toilet and then called me. I'd never seen her so mad. She had a friend die from a drug overdose a few years ago. I tried to talk her into going to the police, but she really had loved Harry and she wanted to handle it herself. She always thought if you have a problem with someone, you try and work it out yourself before involving a third party. But she was worried enough to install that deadlock on her bedroom door."

"We can see how that turned out."

"The next thing I knew, I got the call that she was injured. But she was in a coma at first and couldn't tell us anything. I knew but couldn't prove it. Then Harry came around and started to threaten to finish the job if we didn't pay them back for the lost drugs."

"So...you needed to not only pay the bills, but pay off these bullies too." Neal scowled.

"Yes." Her eyes were troubled. "If...I cooperate, can you help me? Can you protect us?" She stared at each of them. "Without saying what, based on my lawyer's advice..."

Mozzie grinned and nodded.

"I didn't see any choice."

"Will you help ID any forgeries you were involved with?"

"Alleged forgeries." Mozzie interjected.

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Yes. But please, I can't go to prison. I have to take care of my sister. It'll be a long time before she can take care of herself."

"We'll see what we can do." Peter wasn't willing to make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. But he was willing to try. He glanced at Neal. "Whose behind it? Did you hear any other names?"

"Harry mentioned a Carlson."

"Him we've got, in name at least. NYPD took down some of his men and believe me they are talking. They had some of the paintings."

"And a woman named Delilah White."

Peter's brows rose. "Really?"

Neal glanced at him questioningly, clearly, Peter knew something.

* * *

><p>Peter paced back and forth in his office for a moment. Lana had been taken into protective custody, fretting wildly about her sister. "She may need to go into Witsec."<p>

Neal winced. "It's that bad? I knew they were drug dealers and it was bad but..."

"Delilah White is rumored to be a big league member of a mob syndicate. Their members aren't chosen based on the usual racial lines, you have to earn your way in. Usually by committing a violent crime. Even the mob and the big racial gangs are beginning to notice. No one has ever made a case stick against them."

"But now, we have a chance."

Peter shook his head. "We can take them apart. But it'll be years before we can prosecute them all and odds are we won't get them all."

"She'll have to change her whole life. And won't it be hard to give her sister a new identity? They'll be looking for them both!"

"Wit Sec are pros at this." Peter nodded. "But first...we're going to need to take down Harry. He's the key. And with him, we can get Carlson and maybe White."

"He wants the forgeries."

Peter smiled and cocked his head. "Fortunately, we have a forger handy."


	8. Chapter 8

**~Sorry for the delay. For some reason I couldn't get to the log in page!**

* * *

><p>Harry was a real frog prince. No, Neal thought, he was worse. A frog probably had more manners. What had Cynthia ever seen in him?<p>

The man had his arms crossed. But Neal could see the knife on his belt and he suspected the bulge in his jacket was a gun. "So you are the real deal huh? And why should you be willing to do it? What's in it for you?"

"I'm just helping a friend." Neal motioned to Lana, who stood stiffly nearby.

Harry glared at him.

"I'll prove it if you want."

"My boss wants to see your work."

"I've got samples. But I want to meet your boss."

"Ha!"

"I don't deal with small fry." Neal's smile did not reach his eyes. The other man circled threateningly around him. "Look, you want those forgeries? I can help you get them in time. But I know how this works." Neal countered the other man, stepping in his path. "You've already been paid back for those drugs she dumped. You just realized you'd found the goose that lays the golden eggs when you got Lana to do the forgeries. You figure you'll just keep right on leaning. That's not going to happen."

"Oh yeah? How do you plan to stop me?"

"I've got friends just as powerful as yours. And they've got reach too."

The man hissed softly. "Fine. I'll ask the boss if he'll meet with you."

Neal nodded sharply. "Good. Give me a call when he's ready."

Lana gripped his arm when they left. "I shouldn't have let you do that."

"Yes, you should." Neal smiled. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

He spoke over the hidden mic to Peter. "Well, we're on. I hope your ready to get Lana and Cynthia out of here!"

* * *

><p>A few hours later the boss strode forward to meet Neal. His name was Jason Carlson and he was a step closer on the ladder to Delilah White. And he was most particularly unhappy because they were in the now deserted Bergman home.<p>

"Where are they?" Carlson was furious. His scruffy chin was in contrast with his neat suit. And his complexion was livid.

"Gone." Neal said cheerfully. "Like I said, I've got connections. Not all of them legal. I helped them get away and start over."

"They won't get far. Not with Cynthia Bergman so banged up. And why are you doing this? It's a dangerous game your playing, interfering in our affairs. You are in over your head."

Carlson strode right up to him, glaring. His fist clenched, his other rested in a bulging pocket.

"You might be surprised at the places I've been and how high I've gone. I'm looking for a little action." Neal twirled his fedora lightly. "And this does play to my strengths. I'm surprised you're so hostile. Why settle for amateurs when you could work with pros?"

"What's in it for you?"

"Well, to start with, you leave her and her sister alone."

"Oh, is that all." He smirked at the guys around him. Neal hid his disgust at the crude attitude. "Now why would we want to do that?"

"Because I'm the best." Neal crossed his arms and smiled cockily. "Lana may be a good artist, but that's not the same thing as being a good forger. And I'm a great forger. She's paid you back many times over. You aren't just making her pay for what her sister dumped on you. Your making her pay for everything you lost when someone dropped the ball in New Jersey. Hardly fair."

"I don't care about fair and you are very well informed." Carlson said suspiciously.

"Like I said, I have my sources. Even if you supply the materials and part of the profits I can have your money back in no time." Neal shrugged and grinned. "Of course, if you'd rather flounder around with something as low class and cheap as drugs instead of multi million dollar artwork, well, I guess that's your business." His eyes hardened. "But I can make life difficult if you keep trying to hurt her or her sister."

"You've got some brass, boy, to threaten me."

"Not a threat. Just a fact. I know people, buyers, fences, way better than the ones your using." Neal rocked in place, lightly. "So do you want to see what I can do or do you want to whine over spilled milk when you're being offered wine?"

In the van, Peter winced. He didn't doubt Neal knew a lot. Neal wouldn't tell the feds either, not unless it came down to life or death. Neal was a rare one, a breed that to some extent believed in honor among thieves. He might rip them off. But he wouldn't rat on those he knew until he was made an official consultant, and then he still didn't rat on his friends. Never mind bending rules, he'd turn into a contortionist trying to save those friends while not betraying the White Collar team. He didn't always succeed. It was an odd contradiction.

He just hoped he never encountered the wrong one at the wrong moment. Alex Hunter once nearly got him killed, however unintentionally, by blowing his cover.

Carlson, meanwhile had finished pondering what to do with Neal Caffrey, AKA Nick Halden.

He ran through his options: shoot him, try him out, use him and then shoot him? But Neal's confidence was indeed an advantage.

Neal could tell when the man decided.

"Okay. I'll give you a try." Carlson glared at him. "Harry, did she take the artwork?"

"No." Harry led the way to the studio.

A quick glance around confirmed she'd left in a hurry. Neal knew she'd taken a small kit of art supplies, for her sanity, she said. But all her main art remained there.

"Here's the latest, Boss." He held up the early stages of a painting Neal had noticed earlier.

"It's a Van Gogh." Carlson slapped a print down in front of him. Neal recognized it instantly. View of the Sea at Scheveningen had been stolen along with the Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen, the one they already had. Given that it was now confirmed as a forgery, the real one was still missing. Neal had put out feelers to see if he could locate the real ones, more out of curiosity than anything, as the case went on. He wasn't surprised he had no answers. It was probably in a private collection somewhere.

Neal studied it carefully. "Not bad, but not great. Is this all I've got to go on? It's always better to work from originals."

"Well, in this case you can't."

Oh well. It had been worth a try. Probably they had no idea where the real paintings were. Anyone with a library computer could find out they were stolen in ten minutes.

"Fine. I still need as many sources I can get."

"He's stalling." Harry snorted. "How hard can it be? You could look at that and do a copy in no time if you were a decent artist."

Neal bristled, his professional forger's pride rearing up. "Excuse me. There is more to forging a painting than slapping on paint and coloring inside the lines. If you want it to pass as an original you have to match that artist's style." His blue eyes blazed at Harry. "Otherwise any kid with a coloring book could do it. Plus, you have to be able to age it quickly while still retaining that style. I dare you to give it a try when you're on the clock." Or on the dope, he was tempted to add, but refrained. The guy was acting like an addict in withdrawal although not, he suspected, from your average street drug. Neal wondered what wares he'd been sampling.

In the van, Diana exchanged an amused look with Peter. They both heard the impassioned outrage in the young con man's voice.

Peter shook his head and glanced at Diana. "Well, he does take pride in his work," He murmured.

Inside, Carlson was looking at Neal with new respect. "Maybe you do know your business after all. Lana ruined a bunch of pictures trying to do the aging thing. Fortunately for us, she practiced on hers first."

Neal cringed inwardly. He didn't care for the subject matter of alien beings in historical European clothing, but he remembered being dismayed that Mozzie had put his to the torch to save the Nazi treasure. It wasn't because of money, or even that it had inadvertently misled Peter into believing he'd taken it. It was because of the hours of painstaking practice and work they represented. Neal calmed himself by envisioning Harry and Carlson covered in paint and being led away in handcuffs. It would happen. He would make sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9

"This is where things get iffy." Peter said, looking Neal over. The young man was dressed well as usual. Peter was wishing he could find a bullet proof vest that went with his rat pack style. It would save him some worry.

"I'll be fine. It's not like I've never done this before."

"Your luck can't hold out forever. You've already gone through more lives than a cat!"

"Who needs more lives when I have the legendary Agent Burke backing me up?" Neal smiled brightly.

Peter snorted. "The legendary Peter Burke is going to be a block away in a van, at least."

"Told you the FBI should've given me lessons in self defense. Think how much better you'd sleep!"

"I'd sleep less, because you'd be even more overconfident than you already are."

"I'm not overconfident. There is no such thing as an overconfident for a con man. Even if he's working for the law." Neal studied his new forgery at arm's length with some not unjustifiable pride.

Peter admired it as well. It was one of those odd things about art, he couldn't approve of breaking the law but he could admire Neal's forgery skills. They were impressive.

"Neal, we can't keep letting these guys sell this stuff. They are using this art as currency for the drug trade."

"I know." Neal nodded firmly. "And believe it or not, poisoning kids is not something I'm okay with."

"Never thought you were." Peter cocked his head and studied him. "But I do wonder sometimes. You do realize that sometimes terrorists and murderers use forgers right? How can you be sure that you would recognize them to turn them down?"

"No terrorists or murderers were involved in the bond forgery." Neal continued to ponder his Caffrey Van Gogh.

"And the other stuff?"

"Alleged other stuff?" Neal looked at Peter. "Like the alleged other stuff involving Wilkes? You know as soon as I find out the kind of people they are I pull out and pull the rug out from under them. I'm sure you heard Wilkes ranting and threatening about it."

"Among others. What if you found out too late?"

Neal hesitated, touching the painting lightly to confirm it was truly dry. "We'd better crate it just to be sure. I told these guys it would take longer but they are in a hurry."

Peter wasn't surprised Neal changed the subject. "They need to replace their drug shipment and for that they need cash. And that" Peter motioned to the art, "is the cash."

This part of the plan had Neal more than a little reluctant but he wasn't about to admit that to Peter. Something felt off. He didn't trust these guys at all. The warehouse area they met at seemed a bit busier than he'd been expecting. He was still in sound of the neighboring dock workers. He hauled the crate out of the cab and set it by the door before knocking.

Harry opened it. He gave a half bow and smirk and held the door. "Welcome to our humble place of business."

Neal's internal alarms notched up their clanging at this. A friendly Harry was worse than a mean one.

"Where do you want it?" Neal hesitated to enter the building. The exchange of money and goods in the underworld was always a dangerous time. He could smell the stink of the river nearby and hear the waves and gulls. The air was damp. This warehouse backed right up to the water. Eyes on Harry, he nonetheless took in every person in the vicinity in the peripheral vision.

"Come in." Harry's voice was softened ice. Neal picked up the crate staggered through the door and half fell.

"Watch it you klutz!" Harry was furious and frightened as Neal stumbled against him, re-picking up the crated painting.

Neal had taken the split second Harry was pinned, to lift the weapon from his belt. But his alarm didn't diminish. If Harry was afraid of the painting being damaged, it meant serious consequences and someone to dole them out were nearby.

The building rattled under a good wind. The roof was tin and it sounded like a billion miniature drums. Neal again set the painting down on a wooden table. The room was filled with wooden boxes marked fine imports. He glanced in one, noticed wine, and knew Mozzie would have a field day in here. Carlson stepped around a column of boxes.

Before he could open the crate Neal said "Where's my share?"

Carlson held up a case and laid it on the table before Neal, as Neal checked his, he opened the painting crate. "Ah. Very nice. What did I tell you?"

Neal glanced up sharply to see who he was talking to.

Two other men and a woman with pale blond hair but a very bronze complexion stepped out. Neal got ready to give the take down signal.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Much better than the last one." She gave Neal a cold look, studying him like a prize horse. Normally, Neal would've turned on the charm. At the moment he felt a cold chill. She was dangerous. "But we still have to be concerned the Bergman's don't talk." She turned her gaze on Harry, who shrank back.

"They won't. They're too scared. They're on the run." He motioned to Neal. "But if anyone knows where they are it's him."

She looked back at Neal. "Scono?"

One of her large companions gripped Neal by the arm and pulled him forward. She gripped his chin. Caffrey tensed at the handling. Hiss eyes narrowed as they met hers. He tried to take a step back.

"Did you search him?"

"Not yet."

She started to pat him down, which he wouldn't have minded with another woman but this one gave him the creeps. He tried to take a step back. He started to give the take down phrase "I think I left the .. Ah!" He crashed down unconscious as the taser blasted him.

The van was stuck two blocks away, trapped behind produce trucks. Neal's interrupted sentence had them all running. They dodged fish vendors and lift dollies, running for the warehouse with guns drawn. They heard warning shouts and knew they'd been spotted. When they got there the found themselves in a shoot out with various low ranking drug dealers. Legitimate vendors scattered in panic. The roar of motors seemed to come from all directions. The NYPD, backing them up closed the circle.

"Where is he? Neal?" Peter yelled looking around the warehouse.

Diana looked around carefully. "I think this is where they were..." She held up Neal's fedora.

"Great. Unless there's another Sinatra wanna be around here, they've got him." Peter fretted.

"No blood, Boss." Diana pointed out.

"Here!" Jones yelled.

They rushed over to find the warehouse was built partly over a dock. Jones was standing there next to a body. For a terrified moment Peter thought it must be Neal, but then he saw the scruffy jeans and T shirt and realized Harry was down. Jones held something up, and light gleamed from the half open door out to the water. It hit the object. It was one of Neal's expensive cufflinks.

Peter grabbed Harry, who was stirring, holding one arm at his side and groaning. "OW! Hey! Brutality." Harry yelled as Diana and Jones cuffed him.

"Where is he? The guy with the hat. Where did they take him?"  
>"How would I know. I need a doctor. I'm not saying anything until I get a doctor!" Harry whined and sneered.<p>

Peter glared at him. "It'll hurt a lot longer if we lose the paperwork in the system. By then the hospital will be full up with real emergencies..."

"You wouldn't." Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'll sue."

Peter leaned over and looked him in the eye. "Try me. I'll hit you with so many charges you'll never see daylight again.

"Or you could settle for just the charges reserved for low men on the totem pole." Diana observed.

"They'll find out and kill me."

"If anything happens to the guy they kidnapped, you'll go down as accessory to murder. Plenty of time for bad things to happen in prison with a charge like that."

Harry moaned. "Do you know what she'll do to me?"

"I'll make sure she thinks she has a reason too if you don't talk in time!" Peter growled.


	10. Chapter 10

Neal's eyes opened groggily as he thunked onto hard wood and heard the sound of wind, wave and the spray of water. Rolling his eyes around, he resisted the urge to move and give away that he was conscious. He was near a railing and peering over the edge, he saw a speed boat and the river. He resisted the urge to shift. His wrists were tied behind him.

Something slammed his ribs and he had to gasp.

"Get up!"

He was lifted bodily to glare at Carlson. "You always treat your colleagues like this?"

Delilah had her hands on her hips and the sun glinted off her hair. "You're the one who brought the gun to the meet."

"No, Harry brought the gun, I just took away his toy so he wouldn't be tempted." Neal fired back.

"Be that as it may, you are coming with us."

"Where and why?" He shifted sideways, as if to collect his balance on the gently rocking boat. But his movement was checked by a hand clamping tightly to the back of his neck. Another hand gripped one bound arm, hard.

"First, your going to tell us where the Bergmans are. Then, your going to keep painting for us. Clearly you have a lot of talent."

" I don't work for people at gunpoint."

"You'd rather die at gunpoint?" Carlson asked.

Delilah stepped up to him again and Neal again felt like something slimy was approaching. She would've made an excellent vampire. "I can do far worse than kill you with a gun. I can make you wish you were dead."

Neal inwardly noted that anytime now would be excellent for Peter to show up. He hoped he wasn't having too much fun sorting out things at the warehouse. "You know, rewards often work better to inspire people than punishments."

"Who are you, really? This name you use, Nick Halden, it's not your real name, is it? No. I consider it my business to know the criminal underworld." She looked him over carefully. "I have contacts as well. I bet if I have someone run your prints, a famous forger will come out."

"Or infamous?" Neal tried to ignore the pain in his neck and arm. "The best of us aren't known because we aren't caught."

"If you were known by no-one you would be unable to sell you forged masterpieces."

"My contacts are discreet."

"And we will surely have some of the same."

Neal sincerely hoped not. He would be sure to reevaluate the relationship with anyone of his colleagues who dealt with her. She'd stabbed Harry with casual viciousness when he tried to climb in the speed boat. Neal doubted he was dead, but still.

"Boss. Call from the guys we left. That was gunfire we heard!"

She grabbed the phone and listened.

Neal squirmed slightly, getting a feel for where the guy was behind him. They were paying more attention to her and the phone call. Her face had gone stiff and cold anger was in her hard eyes. Feeling lightly along the man's side with one hand, Neal found a knife in a pocket. He worked it up and with professional dexterity, opened it. He kept shifting and squirming.

"Quit moving you!" His impatient captor finally snarled.

"Sorry. I get seasick." He doubled over slightly as if to lose his lunch. Frantically sawing and knowing he had only seconds he felt the rope part. Delilah lowered the phone and spun to glare at him. Neal kicked back hard, slammed back into the guard and rolled sideways. The man yelled, the blade had cut him. Neal flinched too, he'd nicked himself. They all charged at him and Neal went the only direction open to him. Over the side.

"He's a fed! Kill him!" Rang out while he was still plummeting. He hit with a splash, just missing the speed boat. He thought for a brief choking second of trying to board it but gunfire was splashing down all around him. He ducked underneath instead, holding his breath. The boat bounced, clearly taking fire and started to sink. Shaking his head he started to swim under water under the yacht. He had to stay deep to avoid the propellors. But he couldn't stay forever. His lungs were screaming for oxygen and he could barely see through the polluted water. A flow struck him and he realized there was a current. Looking aside, he saw the propellor close and speeding up. He hastened to swim away, rising as he did and came up gasping and choking. He flinched and nearly went under again as gunfire continued to rip the water near him. The yacht was retreating. Other boats were approaching. Daring the weapon's fire, Neal headed toward them.

He could see people in the distance on other boats staring. But one was heading fast for him while two others pursued the yacht. They wouldn't get away. He grabbed the life ring flung at him and was hauled in. He half fell on Peter, drenching the other man's suit and flak jacket. He blinked water out of his eyes, shoved wet strands of hair aside and asked "What kept you?"

Peter thumped him. "Okay?"

"Just wet, bruised and a few nicks. And chilled. I think I've been slimed. That woman was a real snake."

"They've got her." Jones said, eyes glued to binoculars. "They're boarding."

"Thank goodness."

Peter fished the Eagle pen recorder out of Neal's pocket doubtfully. "I don't know if this survived."

Jones glanced back. "We've got the recordings. But we could try rice."

"Agent Rice?" Peter looked puzzled.

"No. The food. Absorbs the moisture. Works sometimes on wet electronics. Phones. Even laptops."

"Nice to know."

Neal sat up, clutching the blanket Peter handed him tighter. "How did you find me?"

"Harry decided he'd get to the doctor quicker if he told us where they took you."

"Ah. He'll be okay then."

"In prison, but he'll live to roll on them."

"That would be wise." Neal snorted. "Because even if he doesn't they''ll still try and shut him up."

It was late evening before things were totally wrapped up. Neal sat, uncharacteristically silent at his dining room table and sipped hot chocolate. It was more effective than coffee or tea and warming him up and right now he desperately needed it. A knock at the door made him rise reluctantly.

"Peter."

His friend stepped in, studied his warm but casually dressed state. "Thawing out?"

"Yeah. Cocoa?"

Peter paused. "Hm. Yeah, sure. Chase away that river chill."

"And the Lady White chill."

"We probably haven't got all of them."

"I know."

"And they won't go to trial for awhile. So we have to leave the Bergmans in WitSec."

"That'll be hard." Neal sympathized. "To leave behind everything."

Peter looked intrigued. "You do it, or did it, all the time."

"I didn't leave my art, Peter. I always had that. She won't be able to sell hers or she'll give herself away. It's a shame." He sipped his drink and stared down at it, as if it held the secret of life.

"And you didn't have a badly injured sister to care for either. Gotcha. But they leave the bills behind too. For now at least. It'll give them a head start. And I think Cynthia really will get a reward. That girl has some serious guts.

"Her sister found her backbone too." Neal smiled faintly. "They gone?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry I missed saying goodbye."

"So was Lana. She said to thank you. And she gave you this." He handed him two poster tubes tied together.

Neal opened the tubes and pulled out two paintings. One was a space scape that he'd openly admired. The other...Neal blushed.

Peter's eyes widened and he leaned over. She'd painted Neal in a noble heroic pose. He couldn't identify the painting she'd borrowed the idea from but the idea of Neal the hero was clear.

Neal looked up at Peter, eyes wide. "At least she didn't give me bug eyes and an antenna." He smiled ruefully.

Peter chuckled. "As long as we keep inspiring people to see us like that, we're going to be all right in the end."

Neal smiled back over the rim of his mug. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They clinked mugs and took a long warming drink.

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>Author Note: I was partly inspired by the artist Michael David Ward in regard to the space art ideas and "View of the Sea at Scheveningen" "Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen" are real Van Gogh paintings and really were stolen and are still missing, according to the Van Gogh Gallery website.<strong>


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